Loss and Hope
by montez
Summary: The Battle of New York, but more importantly the attack on the Helicarrier has taken more from Clint than he could ever hope to recover from, but unbeknownst to him a glimmer of hope is on the horizon, but will it's light reach him in time?
1. Chapter 1

Loss and Hope

By Montez

_A/N: I'm gonna try again, I have made a some modifications to my story and thanks to Aggie2011 I believe a true plot bunny may have landed in my head. I have wanted to write an Avenger's story, or should I say a Hawkeye story for ages, but just couldn't figure out what I wanted to do. _

_Anyway this is my first venture into the Avenger/Hawkeye universe. I am sad to say I hadn't seen the Agents of Shield episode that explains just how Phil was brought back, so I kinda came up with something. And I know as people read my characters are gonna be OC, but I am an emotional writer and need to let those emotions bleed through, we have to remember these people are still human under all the badassness and that's what I love to play with. So constructive criticism is welcome, this story is going through a rewrite and it may take me a bit longer to post, but I will stay with it (hopefully). This is a family style fic, Phil/Clint as more Father/Son. I hope you enjoy-Montez_

Disclaimer: Marvel is awesome, but is not mine. We all know what is theirs and what's not and so here we go.

Chapter 1

"How long has he been there?" Fury's voice was unnaturally quiet after the indescribable day they'd had.

"Three hours…He kept asking and…" Natasha started softly, her mind too trying to process what had happened in the last seventy-two hours, but more importantly the last twelve.

"So no one has officially told him anything?" The dark-skinned man looked at one of his three…no…two best Agents, seeing fissures in her normally unreadable façade.

"He was already feeling guilty for what happened and when he attempted to call him…" Natasha knew Clint would be wanting to contact his handler, his friend once hostilities all but ended, he had been off the grid…lost in the haze that Loki had poured into his mind and soul…he wanted to let Phil know he was okay, or as okay as one could be after being controlled by a demi-God, being forced to do things against your own friends, your family, being knocked unconscious, waking to join the fight against said demi-God, being blown off the roof of a building, then crashing through an office window and landing on a reinforced quiver for the second time in as many hours.

However it had been the look in Natasha's eyes when she stopped him from reaching for phone inside Stark Tower…His world had stopped moving because of that look, he turned and walked calmly away. That is what scared her the most, the unnatural, unClint-like calmness, an hour later Starks ever-present AI's voice sounded through the main floor the Avengers had met on once all medical needs were seen to, mostly Starks brush with death, telling them, her specifically, that Agent Barton had entered the ventilation system and was making his way toward the roof.

Natasha remembered taking off at a run, memories of Clint and later Phil telling her about the time in New Orleans, when a random act of violence had nearly killed the older man and the stories of Barton's emotional and mental decent during that time…Now with Phil gone…Clint alone on a roof, especially one as tall as Stark Tower was not a good place for him to be. Guilt caused a self-destructive streak in Barton and this; this was something she did not even want to think about.

When she had cleared the roof door and saw the silhouette of the archer, quiver on his back, bow held loosely in his right hand, she nearly froze, his posture was wrong, he held himself as if he was in physical pain, which she was sure he was after what she'd witnessed and he'd told her before he started talking about Phil, but what she saw was something only those close to Clint would have saw, the soul-crushing guilt of his handlers, his brothers…his father-figures death.

Natasha stopped the others from advancing as she, herself, moved forward slowly, "Clint?"

His only acknowledgment was a slight shake of his head and a tensing of his shoulders, he didn't speak, didn't look back, his eye's seeing only what he wanted and for once Natasha wasn't sure what that was, memories of Phil and him or what he could only image was his mentors death. She didn't move from her spot, ten yards away. Romanoff vaguely heard Stark demanding a line to Fury as he motioned for the others to go back inside, a rare display of compassion and concern on the Billionaires part.

That was how the scene on the Tower roof came to be as it was now, Natasha still standing sentry and Fury next to her. The older man glanced at her, then back to Clint, he knew concern from him may not set well with the younger man, especially now, so he did as he'd always done, "What the hell do you think you're doing on the edge of the roof?"

Clint had known Fury had arrived, he was always acutely aware of what was going on around him, at least when his mind was really in control, but right now he wasn't sure if he was really in control, "Consider this my resignation Sir." The director had never heard his agent's voice sound so distant, so lost, so hollow.

"Not an option Agent, I need all hands on deck to get this cluster-fuck of a day under control." Fury took a few steps forward, his voice softening a little, but only those who knew him would be able to tell, "Nothing that happened today was your fault."

A frightening chuckle escaped the man before him, like a dead man resigned to his fate, "Sir, the way I see it…if it weren't for me none of this would have happened." Clint never turned; he kept facing the darkness of the night sky.

"Do you honestly think Loki couldn't have done this without you? Do you honestly think he couldn't have fucked up someone else's mind to do exactly what he wanted them to do? Hell he could have done the same thing to me…then where would we be?" Nick moved ever closer, he needed to get this kid off the damn edge of the roof. He knew how self-destructive the younger man could be and they had lost so much already, he wasn't about to lose someone else.

"But it wasn't you…" Barton's voice was dripping with venom, he actually turned to glare at his boss, "It was me…it was my arrows that took out the engine, it way my arrows that took out most of the bridge…and because of what I knew that son of a bitch was able to do all this…" Clint's arm swung over the city, emergency lights could still be seen in the distance. Barton's shoulders dropped again, his gaze going to his feet as they stood on the six inch ledge between the roof and nothing.

"Sir…" the younger man's voice going almost deathly quiet, "just tell me…I didn't…" the choke in his voice was unmistakable, the fear, "That it wasn't my arrow that…"

"No Barton, it was Loki, now get your ass off that ledge or I am going to drag you off." Fury made a move to take another step but stopped when, in one fluid movement, Clint notched an arrow and leveled it at him. Natasha's hand instinctively went for her weapon, but never drew; Nick just leveled his gaze…"Barton!"

"I'm sorry Sir…" His gaze going to Natasha for a fraction of a second, his voice whispering, "Tasha" before he turned, firing the arrow into the darkness and dropping from the ledge.

"CLINT!" Natasha screamed as she ran to the edge, Fury uncharacteristically frozen for a moment.

Natasha's scream brought the rest of the Avengers through the roof door, they had all remained just inside in case they were needed, if for nothing else than moral support for their two members on the roof.

"Stark!" Fury yelled over his shoulder.

"On it…Jarvis scan the perimeter of the building, I need to know where he went." Tony silently prayed the young man who had an aim like no one he'd ever seen, had not just ended up as another casualty at the base of his building.

"Sir, it appears Agent Barton crashed through a window of the adjacent office building." The automated voice responded.

Stark held his arms out, "J" and within seconds his armor was zeroing in on the wrist bands he'd put on earlier when confronting Loki, as the face plate attached Tony was shooting off the roof toward the nearest building.

"Stark?" Fury's voice was off, not the usual authoritative tone.

Hovering outside the broken window Tony maneuvered himself through the opening, "Found his entry point…Jarvis give me thermal, where the hell did he go?"

"Sir, the suit was barely flight ready, most systems are still off-line, I am unable to do a thermal scan at this time." Jarvis's voice filled the headpiece.

Tony looked around, surely the man hadn't gotten that far, he knew he had to be injured, he could tell by the way the younger man carried himself, something was either busted or badly bruised and having crashed through another office window, he was surprised the man could move at all, but he was no where in sight. "I don't see him, could use a little help over here, all my sensors are down, I haven't made repairs yet, so I can't scan for him."

"We'll be there in a couple minutes, keep searching." Steve's voice played through the earpiece in Starks ear as he started walking the floor, searching.

Another damn roll on his quiver nearly stole what breath Clint could drawn in, but he knew he had to move, he knew Stark and all his 'toys' and he needed to get away, to think, to feel or not feel. So pushing the pain aside he got to his feet and stumbled the first few steps before he hit the doorway to the stairs, he knew he only had minutes before the other's would figure out where he went. Going down two flights Barton gained entry to the floor and quickly made his way into the ventilation system and found it all interconnected, as most buildings do and he began the process of working his way down as he knew the other's would go up.

Finally making it to the ground floor he kicked out the vent cover, slipping less than gracefully to the ground. He looked around, then down at himself, he was beat to hell, he hadn't ate or slept in God knew how long and his soul was empty, crushed under the weight of Phil's death. He slowly removed his quiver, placing it on the welcoming counter of the building, his prized collapsible bow beside it and without looking back Clint Barton, orphan, former carnie, former high-end thief, former SHIELD agent disappeared into the night.

_A/N: I have some ideas for a backstory and will place mentions throughout-hopefully I work a backstory into reality, but we'll see what happens._


	2. Chapter 2

Loss and Hope

Chapter 2

_Disclaimer: Marvel is awesome, but is not mine. We all know what is theirs and what's not and so here we go_.

Just as the rest of the Avengers and Fury made it to the floor of the office building Barton had crashed into Fury's phone rang, his mood not conducive to the interruption after having just witnessed the younger man drop from the side of Stark Tower, for that heart-stopping second visions of that same young man's body broken at the base of the building filled his mind, then just a general sense of pissed-off at the events of the last three days, "What!?" he barked into the phone.

"Sir, your presence is requested on the Helicarrier." Maria Hill's voice held the authoritative quality it always did, but he could hear something else.

"Hill I don't have time for this right now, the Council can wait." That was the only reason he thought of that would require him to go back to the ship. "I have a situation here that takes precedence at the moment." He didn't need the rumor getting around that something else had happened to Barton, the mind-control fiasco was bad enough.

Maria hesitated, her voice almost hitching, despite her outward appearance, the day's events, especially the attack on Coulson who despite his smaller stature among SHIELD agents seemed larger than life, the news she was receiving was causing her to question all she knew. Clearing her throat she said the words that she knew would bring the Director back to the vessel, "Sir, it's about Agent Coulson."

Fury froze in his purposeful walk, causing the Avengers around him to stop and look. "I'll be there as soon as I can." hanging up the phone he looked at the others, "We need to meet back on the carrier immediately."

A look of disbelief flashed on everyone's face, Natasha took a threatening step forward, "No…" She had never directly disobeyed an order, "We need to find Clint…he's not…he's not safe at the moment." She knew Fury would understand the statement for what she wasn't saying.

"There is a situation on the carrier that may aide in tracking Barton, we need to leave now." Fury looked at the others, frustration and worry still showing on their faces.

"Jarvis, start a scan of all media for Hawkeye." Stark spoke sharply before glaring at Fury, dropping his faceplate and heading out the nearest window, shattering it as he went through.

The other's descended in the elevator; it was Banner that noticed something out of place on the welcoming desk of the building, "Romanoff." He called her name as he stepped toward the counter, the red-haired woman following his movement, her heart nearly stopping at what she saw…the one thing she knew Clint would never leave behind…his quiver and bow.

She picked them up, tears clouded her vision, but they refused to fall, "What are you doing Clint?" she whispered as she hugged the items to her chest, truly fearing for her partner's, the man she cared a great deal about's life.

_AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA_

Clint knew he needed to get out of the city, too many SHIELD agents swarming the disaster that was Manhattan. He knew where he wanted to go, but he had to be careful how he got there. He knew Fury would use SHIELD resources to try and find him, hell he'd probably get Stark involved too, so he had to stay as off the grid as much as possible. His injuries made moving quickly a difficult task; he could hear Phil's voice now, berating him for not taking care of himself, for hiding his injuries. Clint's vision clouded at the thought of his mentor's voice…a voice he would never hear over his comm's again. Barton spotted an abandoned motorcycle in a side alley; it would be a start to get him where he needed to go.

_AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA_

The arrival of Fury and the Avengers back on the Helicarrier was tense; no one crossed their path as the group walked purposely toward the infirmary. Hill had met them in the hanger bay and if she noticed the absence of Hawkeye, she ignored it, especially once noting that it was Natasha that was carrying said archer's quiver and bow.

The lead physician was standing outside the doorway leading to the critical care section, the larger treatment area was full of the injured from the attack, most had been treated, a few were moving about helping others, many casting a weary glance at the disheveled crew coming through. "Director…" The doctor started.

"Did it work?" Fury's question sent a look of confusion through those with him.

A hint of an exhausted smile crossed the doctor's face, something in Fury's stature shifted, something almost akin to relief, "I want to see him." Nodding the doctor lead the group to an observation room.

"What the hell?" Stark almost shouted, Fury ignoring him, the other's standing in shocked silence as the Doctor began.

"Director he was down for nearly thirty minutes, we are unsure about what damage that may have caused, if it caused any at all with the speed his body is regenerating. His vital's have leveled out and the repair to his heart muscle is extraordinary. If progress continues at this rate he should be awake in the next day or two and mobile shortly after, though he will have to have some therapy until all the muscles have completely repaired themselves which, buy our best guess could be a few weeks. So provided something unexpected, which to be honest with what we are using is a possibility, once he regains consciousness he could make a full recovery." The doctor seemed proud of himself, the formula they used was still unproven in a human, but all lab results had shown the subjects making complete recoveries from fatal injuries and in an act of desperation Fury had authorized them to use it today.

"Sir…" Steve's voice looked questioningly toward Fury; they had been told that the medics had called time of death.

"What is this?" Banner stepped forward; he knew his own accident had allowed the 'other guy' to survive normally fatal wounds, allowing him time and again to survive.

"You knew…" Natasha's emotion clogged voice brought all eyes to her, "You knew there was a chance and you didn't say anything…" Her body tensed as she turned toward her boss after staring, unbelieving through the one-way window.

"I authorized the testing, I could not just let my best agent go, I had to do something, we didn't even know if it would work on a human." Fury didn't normally give explanations for his actions, but he knew Natasha was owed more.

"HOW COULD YOU!" The red-haired woman launched herself at the taller black man, the force actually causing Fury to wince as his back slammed into the wall. He made no effort to protect himself, "You let him think Coulson was dead, you stood there and let him believe it, all the while knowing there was a possibility!"

"That's all it was, a possibility…" Fury attempted to defend as the anger and pain in Natasha's eyes gave him pause, especially once he felt the end of her sidearm under his chin. Steve moved forward, but Nick's hand waved him off. "Romanoff, you need to think about this, how is this going to help?"

She hated his calm, his seeming lack of concern…had he not understood what Coulson's apparent death had done to her partner, "A possibility…" Her voice broke and for the first time ever Fury saw a single tear slip from the young woman's eyes, "A possibility would have given him hope, would have…" The older man felt the weight against him shift, the pressure under his chin ease, "Do you even realize what he may do? Do you even know what Coulson means to him? Now with him believing…possibility, a chance was all he needed and you didn't give him that…God now…" Natasha, for the first time in her life, was totally losing control, she felt her breath hitch as she stepped back…her arm dropping to her side as she looked at Fury, then back through the window at Phil Coulson lying motionless, but alive in a hospital bed. Her mind went back to the devastation on her partner's face, possibility would have gotten him off that ledge, but now, the weight his quiver and bow across her back reminded her of what no hope had a really good chance of doing and in that moment her breath caught, she took another staggered step backward before her world went black, Fury rushing forward to stop her boneless descent to the floor.

_AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA_

As dawn was breaking Clint had ditched the motorcycle when the gas ran out and was now walking, arms wrapped tightly around himself, the numerous cuts on his arms covered by the jacket he had found in one of the saddlebags on the bike. He wasn't even sure if he was still in New York anymore. He needed to get to Iowa, to the place he felt set his feet on the path that had lead him to this moment, if things had only been different, if only he had... His mind was constantly replaying the look in Natasha's eyes as the realization of exactly what Loki's attack had cost him, not only his mind and soul being stripped from his body, but one of the two people he cared about more than anything in the world, even more than his own life.

He had learned long ago that Phil Coulson had been the only thing standing between him and death. He had been a nineteen year old thief turned killer, who had stolen from the wrong person and that person had taken control of his life and upon learning of his unique talents had forced him into becoming a killer, Barton had been drowning in guilt and had began resigning himself that death would be the only way peace would find him. Then Phil found him showed him his talents could be used for the greater good and he became that buffer, offering him a chance, offering him hope and if he was totally honest, offering him love. The kind of love a parent has for a child and a child for a parent. Phil had become that father figure Clint had so desperately wanted since he'd been a young child, and now that was gone, his world had collapsed in on him. He loved Natasha, but knew she would survive without him, but he, Clint Barton, could not survive without Phil Coulson.

As he walked along the highway, his body continued to protest, he needed to sleep, if he was going to get where he intended to go. He looked at his watch; it had been four days since Loki's arrival on Earth, nearly eighteen hours since Manhattan had been nearly destroyed and barely ten since he'd learned about Phil. He stopped on the side of the road, taking a moment to look around, he was in the country, fields spread out on both sides, he finally noticed a two-story barn in the distance, feeling his body shiver from pain and exhaustion, he stepped off the pavement, he needed to rest and the barn loft would hopefully give him someplace to do that.

_A/N: I found Clint's hometown as being in Iowa, via Marvel and Wikipedia. _


	3. Chapter 3

Loss and Hope  
>Chapter 3<p>

_Disclaimer: Marvel is awesome, but is not mine. We all know what is theirs and what's not and so here we go_.

"How the hell am I supposed to track him? He's one of yours and from the files I've read, Oh don't look at me with the evil eye, you know damn good and well I've hacked just about everything around here, from what I read when he goes off the grid, he's gone and according to Jarvis, since his disappearing act there has been nothing." Starks voice could be heard in the hallway, no doubt arguing again with Fury and Hill about their inability to track their own wayward agent.

Bruce had been talking with the doctor in charge of Coulson; Thor had gone to make sure his brother did not pull another disappearing act before he could be transported back to Asgard, which left Steve keeping watch over the red-haired agent on the bed before him. He didn't know these people well, but could see the loyalty Phil had for the Black Widow and Hawkeye. Though the archer had started out against them, he had been an invaluable asset in assisting them in the battle for New York. The Captain still didn't understand the dynamics of the organization he worked for, people who cared for one another and didn't show it, sure back in his time people weren't touchy-feely, but he made damn sure that those he cared for knew it, without a doubt.

It had been a couple hours since they'd learned Phil Coulson was still alive and Natasha had collapsed. Steve leaned forward when the young woman started to move, standing quickly when she shot straight up in bed, "Clint…" She looked around the room, her eye's finally landing on the Captain, his hand inches from her shoulder. A moment passed before she started taking out the IV that was in the back of her hand.

"Whoa, what are you doing? The doctor said you were not only exhausted, but dehydrated and has severe bruising on your back and chest that you didn't tell anyone about." Steve's tone had taken on an air of authority but Natasha ignored him.

"I'm fine." She replied sharply as Fury walked into the room, Stark close behind.

"Just where do you think you're going?" The older man effectively blocking the door.

"I want to see Coulson and I want to know what you're doing to find Clint, because whatever it is, it won't be enough…Coulson was the only one who ever knew where Clint would disappear to and now…" Her voice dropping, the hopeless feeling invading her soul again before she cleared her throat, straightened her back and glared at her boss, "And now, because of you he may never be found and if we do find him…it might just be his body." With that she shoved past both men at the door and headed down the hall, toward the area she remembered Phil being.

_AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA_

_In the second the gunshot echoed between the buildings, Barton had loosed an arrow, it went through the shooters hand, causing the teen to drop the gun and take off running down the alleyway. Clint grabbed the railing of the fire escape and slide the five stories down, jumping the last ten feet. As soon as his feet hit the ground he was yelling into his comm's for an emergency medical evac as he slid down next to Coulson, the older man's hands pressed tightly against the growing stain on the lower front of his white dress shirt._

"_Shit…" Clint mumbled as he pulled his quiver off, dropping it next to his bow, then shedding the black jacket he'd had on, pressing it to the ever expanding spot of crimson. "Hey Coulson…you trying to edge into my territory? I'm the bullet magnet remember." His normal deflective humor might have worked if not for the clear tremor in his voice._

_Phil's attempt at a grin turned into a grimes of pain as the older man's eyes pinched shut, his breath catching, "He open your eyes…no sleeping on the job…" Clint whispered, "Help's on the way." As if by saying it summoned the help a black SUV came skidding to stop behind them._

"_Not…your fault…" Coulson ground out around the pain, his eye's finally looking hard into Clint's. "The kid?" Leave it to Phil to be bleeding from a gut shot in a back alley of New Orleans and be worried about the young punk that had tried to shake him down, thinking a man in suit was an easy target._

"_Gotta new hand accessory, took off, now stop talking," As Clint said the words, the medics slid in beside him._

"_You did good…always…have done…good" Phil whispered out as he reached a hand up, fisting it in Clint's shirt, "don't forget…" As the medic moved Barton's jacket and placed the pressure bandage, Coulson inhaled sharply, his eye's rolled back, the fist in Clint's shirt dropped, landing on Barton's knee._

"_Coulson! Damnit Phil don't you do this…" Clint yelled as one of the medics rose to his knees and started compressions, all the archer could do was watch._

Clint awoke with a start, his body shivering, when he moved it was stiff. The memory of the one time Barton had almost lost the man who was the closest thing to a father figure he'd had since he was a kid filled his mind and his breath hitched at the soul-crushing realization that this time Coulson was gone for real, he felt his eye's prick with moisture that he refused to let fall. Slowly pushing his battered body to his feet he noticed darkness had fallen and he knew he needed to get moving again. So he picked up the knife he had laid beside him and re-holstered the one gun he had with him before leaving the barn and heading back toward the highway.

Once there he started walking again, sticking his thumb out when he heard a vehicle approaching, never looking behind him as he went. He'd been walking for a couple hours, his breathing hitching occasionally as the muscles in his back would spasm and cause his broken ribs to shift.

An old, beat-up pickup truck pulled over a few yards ahead of him, upon reaching the vehicle a much older man addressed him, "Where ya headed?"

"Iowa." Clint's voice was gravelly from non-use.

"You got a long way to go son, I ain't going that far but I can get you as far as Chicago, going to visit my son and I can't stand flying." He smiled in the dome light as Clint opened the door and eased into the passenger seat. "To be goin so far you ain't got anything with ya?"

"Don't need much." Clint hugged the passenger door, he knew his reaction time would be off if this ride ended badly, but he also didn't want to appear as a threat to the older man.

"Okay then." The man replied pulling back on the roadway, "My names George by the way."

"Clint" Barton whispered as he laid his head against the passenger window though he'd sleep a few hours, his body still protested his continued movement and was still trying to recover from the days without sleep and deal with his injuries. The lull of the highway caused him to drift off, again the voice of Phil filled his head, 'What the hell are you doing?' just before sleep claimed him Clint whispered out, "Dying."

George glanced at the young man beside him, he looked exhausted and carried himself like he'd been in a fight, like his whole body hurt, the barely whispered word he'd just heard as the boy drifted off caused him concern borne from being a father…something was wrong with this kid and he was trying damned hard to hide it. George decided once the young man woke up he'd watch him closely, daylight would offer a better chance at really getting a good look at him, then maybe he could figure out what was wrong and try to help him, even if it was just to get him to admit he was hurt.

_AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA_

Natasha sat stiffly next to Coulson's bed, she watched the rise and fall of his chest, could hear the steady beat of the heart monitor, her mind clouded with worry, fear. Down deep she knew Fury and even Stark were doing everything they could to find Clint now that Phil had been brought back from the dead. Her mind replayed her attack on Fury, how he was actually trying to explain himself, something the other man never did.

She was realizing that he too believed Phil was lost until he got that call and Fury was nothing if not someone that only relayed facts, not hopes, or possibilities. But that didn't stop the soul-crushing fear that they would be too late.

_AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA_

George pulled into a gas station somewhere in Ohio, the sun was just starting to rise, he needed fuel and some coffee. Looking at the young man still asleep in his passenger seat he could see his breathing hitch, a sound he'd missed over the soft hum of the radio. The kid had bruising behind his left ear, a faint bruise on his forehead, near the hairline and his arms were curled tight round his chest. "What happened to you kid?" George whispered as he slowly reached over to shake Clint's shoulder, throwing his hands up and backing up as Barton started awake bring a knife up at the unknown threat, "Hey there, easy son…"

The unfamiliar voice filtered through his hazed mind before clarity started to take over, the startled, fearful reaction from the man in the vehicle with him gave him pause when he realized he'd brought his knife to bear. "Oh God…" Clint tried to take a deep breath, the hand holding the knife dropped quickly to his lap as his other hand came to cover his eyes. "I'm sorry…" He whispered as he returned the knife to its hidden sheath, "I'm sorry…I'll go, thanks for the ride."

George didn't have time to react before Clint opened the door and fell to the ground, "Hey…" The older man got out of the truck and rushed around to the passenger side, Barton's legs had folded under him, the impact on the ground causing his breathing to catch, panic gripping him as his hands dug into the metal frame, trying to find purchase.

Strong arms grabbed him around the shoulders, for a moment he thought it was his mentors arms, arms that had helped him when he was sick or injured more times than he could count, "Phil?" Clint's hazed eyes looked up, meeting George's just before they rolled back and the younger man lost the battle with consciousness.

"Ah Hell…I need some help out here!" George yelled as he felt Clint go limp in his arms. He'd heard the young man call for someone named Phil, was that his father, a brother, a friend? The older man didn't know, all he knew was this kid was obviously hurt bad and he wouldn't, couldn't leave him until he knew he'd be okay and he would try to track this Phil person down.

_AAAAAAAAAAAAAA_

"He's healing much quicker than we could have ever expected, do you realize what kind of application possibilities we may have?" The Doctor stood in front of Fury, Steve and Tony just behind the Director of SHIELD.

"You're playing God, nothing good ever comes from that." Stark stated, he was all about pushing limits but even he knew something like this could create more harm than good.

"And you think the alternative would be better?" Fury looked at the Billionaire.

"Hey I like Super Nanny as much as anyone, but when someone dies they are meant to stay dead." Tony ignored the look his blunt statement got him from Steve.

"You died." Steve looked at him, the nonexistent glow from the arc-reactor when Hulk had dropped Stark's limp body after he fell back through the port-hole flashed in his mind.

"I was in outer space, the technology in my suit wasn't designed for that, everything shut down, but I knew what I was doing, I was ready to accept my fate, but once I was back Jarvis was able to reboot everything immediately including the arc-reactor. I wasn't brought back with unknown, untested whatever this was." Tony waved his hand around, "Do we even know if it will be him when he wakes up or should we be prepared for Frankenstein's monster, because that is what it appears you're trying to do."

"All our test subjects recovered as if they had never died." The doctor replied.

"They were mice, how many drugs have been marketed that worked on mice and rats and killed people. You don't even completely understand what you used; you don't know what it will do to him." Stark hated dealing with doctors, especially arrogant doctors. "Its technology derived from a mutants blood…you don't know what that will do to a non-mutant."

"A mutant?" Steve looked at Stark, "I don't understand."

"Something to add to your 'to do' list there Cap, we have a whole subgroup of humans now, classified as mutants, they have different abilities and a few exhibit rapid healing and cell regeneration. Not unlike yourself, but they were actually born with these abilities." Tony started in on the whole mutant talk before Fury stopped him.

"Enough, it was my decision and it's done, right now I need you focusing on finding Barton until our systems are fully online…if something happens to that kid I don't even want to think of what Romanoff will do, much less what Coulson will do…" Nick had a healthy respect for his second in command, but he knew how the man could get when it involved Barton and honestly that prospect worried him more than he cared to admit.


	4. Chapter 4

Loss and Hope  
>Chapter 4<p>

_Disclaimer: Marvel is awesome, but is not mine. We all know what is theirs and what's not and so here we go._

George followed the ambulance that carried the hitchhiker he'd picked up; he didn't know why he couldn't just let the kid go…yeah he did. It was the wounded look, the look of loss that radiated from him, the pain he was trying so hard to hide. The father in him would have never forgiven himself if he just abandoned the young man now.

He parked his truck in the first spot he could find in the small hospital's lot and moved quicker than his age would suggest, to catch up as they pushed the still unconscious man through the emergency room doors. He heard as the EMT's shouted out vitals, the words diminished breaths and broken ribs were clearly discerned in the medical jargon.

George stopped in the doorway to the room Clint was wheeled into. He watched as the young man was transferred to the treatment bed from the gurney, his mind absently processing the dark stains on the remaining sheet the younger man had been laying on, stepping forward when the attending doctor yelled for security to be called, "What's wrong?" George found himself asking.

"He has a gun on him; protocol requires security to remove it." A nurse replied as she motioned him back.

"He has a knife too, but I don't know where." George added as a security guard entered the room, taking possession of the gun and knife they found strapped to his upper leg, blending almost seamlessly into his pants.

"What the hell is he wearing?" A nurse had attempted to cut Clint's shirt and found the scissors wouldn't work. "Is that body armor?" The doctor looked closely, what had appeared to be a form-fitted shirt was actually SHIELD developed light body armor.

"We need to figure out how to get this off of him." The doctor stated as he began a cursory examination of his patient.

One of the nurses started examining the material, looking for a seam to possible cut along, while another began looking for something stronger to cut the material. "I have glass imbedded in his back" She shouted pushing aside the edges of the jacket Barton had on, the doctor moved to ease his patient onto his side to see what exactly he had going on.

"Son of a bitch" The doctor mumbled as he looked up, call the OR, we need a room now, I have blood seeping around some of these larger shards", though body armor could usually stop bullets, a sharp point could still get through if angled just right and it appeared his patient was unfortunate enough to have several pieces angled just right.

An alarm started to sound as they laid Clint back, "He's not breathing", a nurse called out turning to retrieve an intubation tube before the doctor could request it. George watched as the young man seemed to be losing the fight for his life and the older man silently prayed that he wouldn't as the doctor got the tube down his throat and the bed was wheeled from the room, heading toward the operating room.

00000000000

Phil Coulson was an ever observant man, he saw things other didn't, could read people like no one else and that had saved his ass and helped him recruit some very effective people into SHIELD over the years. But if he was totally honest, his greatest accomplishment was saving a self-destructive, nineteen-year old thief and sometimes enforcer of syndicate that was on SHIELD's radar from that life and from himself. He had tracked Clint Barton, aka Hawkeye for months before he caught up with him outside a SHIELD satellite office in South Carolina and realized that day he had not only found the organization one of their greatest assets, but he had found himself something he had never realized he was missing, a family. From day one he felt a paternal instinct toward the boy that had only grown stronger over the years and when Loki had arrived on the planet and 'compromised' Barton, his world nearly stopped. Then the attack on the Helicarrier and reports that Clint was leading it, he knew he needed to stop Loki if only to save Clint. As his mind sorted through everything that had happened an involuntary intake of breath caused him to choke, he'd been stabbed in the back by the demi-God, had felt the blood pool into his chest as he knew the wound was fatal, he could remember pulling the trigger on the prototype weapon, saw Loki fly from sight, then he saw Fury before him. He could remember fear in the older man's eye, something that was never seen. Phil could remember Fury telling him he couldn't die, then his mind flashed to Barton, "Not his fault", he'd whispered, knowing his boss, his friend would know what he meant and then his world went dark.

Now he was coughing as if his lungs had been deprived of oxygen for far too long, he felt hands on his shoulders, another set on his back, turning him on his side. A soft-whispered voice was close to his ears, "Just breathe…slow down and breathe…just listen to my voice…in…out…in…out" His mind tried to follow the directions; he could finally feel his body calming, his lungs beginning to work more effectively.

Several tense moments passed before he felt himself being laid back down, a warm hand took a hold of his, squeezing as another touched his shoulder. "That's it, easy…"

"Natasha…" Phil's raspy voice whispered the name of the young woman who, much like Clint, had somehow wormed her way into his life, into his family.

"Right her…" Natasha's voice cracked, she realized upon her own waking that her emotions were shot to hell and it would be some time before she would be able to wind them back in. "Just take it slow and easy, you gave us all a hell of a scare."

Phil could hear something foreign in her voice, emotion was rare to hear from her, but he'd heard it before, but there was something else, just below the surface…he needed to know what it was, he needed to make that sound go away. "What's wrong?" He whispered again, his eye's trying desperately to blink open, the bright light causing him to scrunch them closed again.

"Get the damn lights," He heard her hiss at someone before the room darkened. "Lights are out, you want to try again?"

Phil took a moment and slowly tried again, this time it didn't feel like his eyes were being gouged out. Blinking he turned his head slowly to focus on the red-haired woman who was now sitting on the edge of his bed. A sad smile broke across her face, "Hi".

"You okay?" He asked her, he could see the paleness in her face, the dark circles under her eyes; even her normally bright red hair looked dull.

"I'm okay." She said quietly as she looked toward the door, Fury having entered behind the nurse and doctor that had rushed in when Phil returned to consciousness and alarms sounded.

"How are you feeling?" The dark-skinned man's voice was quiet for him, but still held that air of authority.

Phil looked at his boss, "Like I was stabbed in the back by a demi-God Sir." He felt Natasha squeeze his hand again; the unusual physical contact was both comforting and worrying at the same time.

"Drop the Sir shit and tell me how you fell." Nick stepped forward, the doctor still hovering to the side.

"Back and chest feel tight, head still a little fuzzy…I died…" Phil looked at the man next to him, then glanced toward the doctor, who finally stepped forward.

"Yes Agent Coulson, you were down for about thirty minutes before we were able to bring you back." The physician relayed.

"How?" Phil was trying to figure out how he'd been brought back and was seemingly unaffected, except the dull ache of his upper body.

"That's not important right now; the important thing is you're back." Fury glared at the doctor, stopping him from explaining, the director would do that later, when the more pressing issue at hand was dealt with and it wasn't something he was looking forward to telling his newly resurrected agent.

Now Phil was starting to get agitated, there was something that was being kept from him, "What's going on? Something's wrong," He shifted his arms, wanting to sit up, "Can someone raise this damn bed." He could feel his emotions starting to cloud things.

Natasha used the controls to raise the bed, allowing Phil a more upright position. It was then, finally getting a good view of the room that he realized one very important thing, "Where's Barton?" In that moment the atmosphere of the room changed, causing his chest to constrict that had nothing to do with his unnaturally healing wound. Images from the video feed of when Loki had arrived filled his mind, the fear of what the staff had done to the young man he cared so much about nearly freezing his soul. His breathing was increasing, his body started to move of its own accord as he attempted to get up off the bed, "WHERE THE HELL IS CLINT?"

Fury and Natasha's arms reached to keep Phil in the bed, but he would have none of it, Coulson managed to get to his feet, a wobble shaking his balance as he glared at Nick.

"We don't know."

"You don't know?" Coulson looked at him disbelieving, was Loki still out there, did he still have Clint under his control. "Where's Loki?"

"Loki's in custody, Thor has control of his brother now." Fury explained.

"Then where is…" Phil felt a moment of light-headedness, his hand coming up as he wavered; Nick grabbed his shoulders and forced him back down on the bed. A looked crossed Coulson's face the likes Fury had only seen one other time, the one time they had all believed Barton was dying, "is he dead?"

The injured man watched his boss's shoulders drop, a sense of defeat pouring from the man, "We don't know…he's off the grid…I'm sorry Phil but we just don't know."

_A/N: don't know hospital procedure for someone coming in with a weapon on them, so I improvised._


	5. Chapter 5

Loss and Hope  
>Chapter 5<p>

_Disclaimer: Marvel is awesome, but is not mine. We all know what is theirs and what's not and so here we go._

George found himself sitting in an empty waiting room near the OR, it had only been a few minutes since the young man he'd given a ride to disappeared through those doors, obviously injured more than George had ever imagined. How the hell was the kid functioning with glass imbedded in his back? The older man looked up when a doctor and police officer entered the room. "You came in with the young man correct?" The doctor asked.

George nodded, "I picked him up hitchhiking overnight in Pennsylvania, said he was trying to get to Iowa. I had no idea he was hurt as bad as he was, figured he'd been in a fight or something by the way he carried himself, how is he?"

"I'm not allowed to reveal patient information without consent…" The doctor started.

"Look, something's wrong with that kid, and not just his injuries, I don't know if he has any family or not, all I know is he needs someone right now and that's me." George stated firmly.

"Sit," The doctor motioned as the three men took a seat, "He appears to have several broken ribs, one has actually punctured his lung, he appears to have taken several blows to his head and body, the surgeon is checking for additional internal injuries and we are going to have to watch for signs of intracranial pressure. He didn't tell you anything about how he was injured or why he had weapons and body armor on?"

"He barely told me his first name, he said it was Clint. When he collapsed at the station he thought I was someone named Phil, but I don't know who that is. I knew about the knife, I startled him when I woke him; I had no idea about the other stuff. He reacted like a soldier, even in my day we did our damnedest to hide injuries, maybe he got into a fight or something and is having flashbacks, I don't know, I just know that kid is hurting and I couldn't, in good conscious leave him." George glanced at the officer who had been taking notes. "Is he in trouble?"

The officer looked up, "Right now all I have is an untraceable handgun, a knife and a first name, he didn't have any type of identification on him, so I'm going to have to enter his description into our data base and see if he's wanted anywhere or is a missing person. Still don't know what to think of the body armor he had on, but right now I don't see him going anywhere and hopefully he will be okay after surgery and maybe we can solve this mystery once he wakes up."

George looked back at the doctor, "Do you know how long it might take?"

"A few hours, they have to repair his lung and check for other internal injuries, then deal with the glass in his back." The doctor stood, the other's following. "I'll tell the nurses to keep you updated."

"Thank you." The older man replied as the doctor left the room. "Can you let me know if you find out who this kid is and what might have happened to him?"

"Of course. I'm surprised you've stayed, most people wouldn't have even pick up a hitchhiker in the middle of the night, let alone hang around if they were hurt." The officer commented.

"I honestly don't know why I picked him up either, I've never done it before, but when he reached the door and I saw his face, all I could think of was my own son and I would hope someone would help him if he needed it." George shook the officer's hand, returning to his seat to wait and see whether Clint would survive the surgery, the kid's whispered word 'dying' playing over in his memory.

0000000000

Phil was sitting in a wheelchair dressed in scrub pants and a tee-shirt, an IV still in his arm, a blanket wrapped around him, it only remaining in place because of Natasha. The young woman had not left his side as the older agent insisted that he be taken to the computers Stark was using to try and locate Barton. This was all too reminiscent of when Clint had initially disappeared with Loki, the endless monitoring for any sign. The infirmary doctor had not been happy with Phil's decision to leave, especially when he still wanted to examine him and document his rapid healing. Several hours had passed with no results when Phil looked from the screens to Romanoff, "We need a jet…"

"What? Why?" She was startled by the request; nothing had shown up on the monitors.

Phil looked hard at her, "Not here, but I need off this damn ship, but first I need you to take me to my quarters."

The look on Coulson's face left no room for argument; she stood and began maneuvering the healing man from the room with little notice from those around them. Fury had returned to the bridge, Steve had went to check on Thor, Banner was still in the infirmary trying to understand the science of what had brought Phil back from the dead and Stark was glued to the computers, communicating with Jarvis.

Upon reaching his quarters Phil removed the IV, giving Natasha a look when he sensed her protest, "Get me some real clothes." The young woman headed for the closet, though his usual attire was suits, Coulson had several pairs of combat cargo pants which she brought out to him, also bring a lightweight jacket to slip over the dark grey tee-shirt he had on. "Top drawer" Phil said, moving from the wheelchair to the desk chair, kicking off the hospital socks he had on before taking the ones offered by Natasha, who then knelt to help him into the boots he was reaching for. "I can do it."

"But you don't need to, let me help." She replied, he could still see the pain and fear in her face, the same pain and fear he was holding onto. She needed to help him, just as he had always needed to help her or Clint when they were hurt, so he let her.

Once he was changed, he stood with Natasha's help and pulled one of the desk drawers open retrieving one of his handguns, his identification, just in case he needed to step on a few toes to get what he needed, and a picture of Clint. "Let's go." Phil straightened himself, taking a deep-breath before they left the room, Natasha was amazed how the man who had been dead just days ago seemed to be pushing any weakness he felt aside as they walked purposely toward the Quinjet hanger.

Phil had always done things officially, but this time he didn't have time for questions, Natasha went to persuade the agent in charge that she needed a jet, while Coulson made his way into the nearest, flight-ready plane. He was doing a preflight as Romanoff entered, hitting the button to close the ramp door. "We're good, told him I was needed back in New York; we should be clear before he realizes anything." A silent nod was all she received before she put on the headset and got clearance to take off.

Once in the air she engaged the autopilot and looked over at Phil, keeping a close eye on the man beside her, she was worried about him, she couldn't even begin to understand what had taken place that allowed him to return from the dead, but that didn't mean he wouldn't still be in some pain. "Want to tell me where we're going?"

"Iowa." He glanced her way, silently counting down the minutes until he knew Director Nick Fury's voice would be demanding his attention over the radio.

And as if on cue, before Natasha could comment, the director's voice sounded over the radio, "Agent Coulson what the hell do you thing you are doing? You haven't been cleared by medical to leave the carrier."

"Sorry about that Sir, but I can't sit around and wait this time." Phil responded.

"Do you know something that you're not sharing with the rest of the class Agent?" Fury was beginning to feel he was losing control of everyone under his command.

"Let's just say I know that kid better than anyone, I might know where he's headed, but make sure Stark keeps searching." The agent than flipped the switch, effectively closing communication.

The flight was made in silence, Natasha occasionally throwing glances at her handler and friend, especially when he brought his hand up to rub the side of his head, "You okay?"

"Fine." He gave her the standard answer among them and he knew she would see through it, he was far from fine, he'd died, been brought back, Clint was missing and deep down Phil feared what the young man's mindset may be with Barton not knowing that he was alive. Add that to the odd feeling he was having throughout his body, he knew he was anything but fine.

In a couple hours they had entered the airspace near Ames, Iowa and upon receiving clearance to land at the small airport the Quinjet was touching down. "We need a vehicle" He commented to Romanoff who made her way toward the parking lot as Phil met with the head of the small airport, which appeared to handle locally owned Cesena's.

"Interesting plane you got there." The man met him at the door, paperwork for his arrival in hand.

"Prototype, I'll only be here a couple hours." Phil stated as he signed a false name to the document.

The man looked at the operator's license Coulson showed him, comparing signatures, "Okay Mr. Lewis, just let me know if you need anything." Phil nodded as he turned to head out the door, a small, unassuming sedan pulled up to the curb and he got in.

"People around here are to trusting, someone just left this running outside that market over there, I'll change the plate once we get down the road." Natasha had managed to get a plate from a totally different car in the lot and get this one without anyone noticing. "Now are you gonna tell me where we are going?"

Looking out across the rural landscape, he spoke softly, "About thirty miles from here, they'll be a small, narrow two-lane road, another six or so miles down it we'll come to an overgrown gravel road that will lead to an abandoned farm house." The questioning look from Natasha caused Phil to continue, "It's Clint's, I'm the only other person that knows about it, except for you now. Most people around here believe an out of state investor owns the property, he had it when I recruited him. The county had taken possession of it when no family could be found, Clint told me he bought it as soon as he was able to get the money together…"

"His family's home." Natasha stated, he had told her once in passing that he'd grown up out in the country, had been a decent shot, even at a young age, his father had been big on teaching him and his brother how to properly handle guns since they lived on a farm.

Phil nodded, "He comes here from time to time, he believes since this is were he came from, that everything that has lead him to now started here…he feels guilt over his parents death, even though he was only a child, then the hellish direction his life took afterward…" Coulson's voice faded some, he had tried to convince the younger man his parent's death was not his fault, but it had been Clint that had begged his parents to go fair that had stopped in town that day and it was on the way home from that fair that the crash that changed his life had happened. "he has the deed under an alias that can't be traced back to him. Since he hasn't shown up on Starks radar and if I know him like I think I do, he's working on autopilot and he is going to go to the one place he knows no one will look for him, where there will be no one to stop..." The emotion in Coulson's voice just helped confirm the thoughts Natasha had been dreading of what her partner wanted to do, she knew, deep in her heart, what he very well could do, clearing his throat Phil's continued, "Clint told me once that he had wished he'd died in that car accident, then he wouldn't have been forced to hurt so many people, ruin so many lives. He said once I was the only reason he was still alive…if he thinks I'm dead…"

Silence filled the car, they had a mission, a mission that was more life and death than any mission they had been on, Natasha prayed they would reach the isolated farm house before Clint, but she also knew he had a couple day head start. She knew her partner was resourceful and would find ways to get where he was going without showing up on Stark's searches, she just hoped he wouldn't show up as a possible John Doe before they found him.


	6. Chapter 6

Loss and Hope  
>Chapter 6<br>_Disclaimer: Marvel is awesome, but is not mine. We all know what is theirs and what's not and so here we go._

George stood up when the doctor he'd spoken with before came back to the waiting room, "How is he?"

"He's not good, but he's hanging on, for how long is up to him." George felt his heart sink at the prospect, from the look in the kids eyes he didn't know if he had much fight left in him. "The surgeon repaired what he could, that being a punctured lung and lacerated liver. How he remained mobile as long as he did, I have not idea, the surgeon estimates the injures happened a couple days ago. He had several shards of glass imbedded in his back, most of those are infected, he has severe bruising to his chest and back, especially around his kidney's, honestly it looks like he landed hard on something cylinder shaped, with the bruise pattern he has. He's starting to run a fever from the infected wounds, plus we have noticed an increase in pressure on his brain from the hits to the head he appears to have taken."

"So you don't know for sure if he's gonna make it?" George hated to think of the young man dying alone, with no one around that knew him.

"Right now it's a waiting game, we'll do what we can." The doctor stated.

"Can I see him?" George asked, looking toward the door the doctor had emerged from.

"He's in recovery, we'll be moving him to the ICU in about a half an hour, I'll have the nurse come and get you then." The doctor stood and headed back the way he'd came.

George put his head in his hands, how had a hitchhiker triggered such a protective streak in him? Blowing out a deep breath the older man moved toward the courtesy phone on the wall of the waiting room. He needed to call his son, let him know he'd be a few days later than he planned, then he'd call the officer he'd spoken to earlier, see if they had found out anything on the young man he knew only as Clint.

_AAAAAAAAAAA_

Pulling into the long drive that lead to the seemingly abandoned farmhouse increased the apprehension and fear for the two individuals in the 'borrowed' car. There was no outward sign anyone had been near the property in a very long time. Phil knew it had been nearly a year since Clint had disappeared to the homestead after a particularly tough mission. "It doesn't look like anyone's been here in a while." Natasha said, desperately wanting to believe they had somehow made it before Barton, if this was where he was coming to begin with.

"It never does…" Phil commented knowing even when the younger man came to the property there was never an outward sign.

Natasha pulled the vehicle up near the enclosed porch, Phil exiting first, slowly taking the three steps to the ragged screen door, a characteristic squeak coming from the aged entrance. Romanoff was just steps behind when Coulson tried the main door only to find it still locked. Looking in the window the interior was dark, no signs of life, that both relieved and terrified the older man. Pulling out his ID Phil removed two keys that were tucked behind his badge ignoring the look Natasha gave him.

They were both on guard as they entered, neither knowing the state of mind their friend may be in if he was hidden within the house. Phil looked at Romanoff, a silent communication between them told her to call out, Coulson didn't know what would happen if he was the one to call out, whether Clint would believe it was real or a cruel illusion. "Clint…please…" Her voice getting louder, the crack of emotion clear, "Barton answer me if you're here…please."

Silence continued to greet them as they made their way through the whole house, it was empty. "We need…" Phil stopped to look through the kitchen window, to the barn several yards from the house, his mind playing unimaginable images he wished he could erase. There was a high loft out there, with several exposed beams, the older man placed his hands on the counter, bowing his head, one hand coming to cover his face, "we need to check the barn."

Natasha stepped forward to place her hand on his back, but he moved a fraction of a second before contact was made. He purposely walked back through the house, back through the front door, the squeak of the screen marking his exit as Romanoff made it to the living room, seeing the older man crossing the yard. She took off in a run as she cleared the stairs, having seen Coulson open the barn door, then sag against it, her worst fears flashing in her mind. As she reached the doorway and Phil, who looked barely able to stand she heard him whisper, "It's empty".

The loft was open, sunlight filtering through the upper windows, a few birds and field mice scurried about, but nothing else. She let out a ragged breath then turned and looked at Coulson, he head leaned back against the door-jam he was using to hold his barely functioning body up with. "We'll find him." She said softly, taking a step toward the older man, who seemed to appear many years older than his actual age, "we'll find him." Natasha repeated as she stepped forward and did something that was so out of character for her, she put her arms around Phil, she was slightly shocked when she felt his arms return the gesture.

A moment later Phil's phone buzzed in his jacket pocket, Natasha stepped back, but kept an arm on the exhausted looking man. She kept reminding herself it was just a short time ago he had dead and he was still healing by means that none of them completely understood.

"Coulson." Phil answered gruffly, his mood going from extreme to extreme and at this point there wasn't much Fury could say that would affect him.

"You are really starting to piss me off Agent…" Fury said the words with all the aggravation he could muster considering the circumstances.

"With all due respect SIR," Coulson felt he was actually channeling Barton at that moment, the way the kid could say 'sir' and it sound like an insult, "Pissing you off is the least of my concerns at the moment, so…"

Coulson was cut off by an uncharacteristic softer tone, "Phil…you need to get to Jefferson, Ohio, Stark picked up an entry in a police data base…Phil, it's a description matching Barton…a footnote on the report has him listed as a patient at the local hospital under the name Clint Doe."

Phil paled, his breath catching, Natasha slowed his descent as the older man's legs finally buckled, the phone slipping from his hand, "Whoa…hey…Look at me, Coulson…Phil!"

Fury could hear Romanoff, something was happening and he didn't know what, "Romanoff, what's going on?…Natasha!"

Phil took a deep breath, his vision had grayed as the information that Clint was in a hospital in Ohio registered, what was wrong with him? how did he get there? Why was Natasha in his face? "Okay…I'm okay" he took another deep breath as the young woman with him picked up the phone from the ground.

"We're okay, just give him a second" she looked at Coulson as he rubbed his hands over his face, he needed to get it together, they may have found Clint and he needed to get to him, a slight nod letting her know he was regaining his control. " What did you say to him? Did Stark find Clint?"

Fury could be heard muttering under his breath about the shit that was gonna hit the fan when all this was over. "We think he's in a hospital in Ohio, What happened? Is Coulson alright?"

This time Phil found his voice to answer as he reached for the phone, Natasha reluctantly relinquishing it, Fury noticed his Agent sounded slightly weaker than before, "I'm good…we're leaving for the airport now, we should be there in a couple hours. Does Stark have any more information?" Natasha helped Coulson as he made his way to his feet, taking a couple stumbling steps toward the car before he finally got his footing.

"He's still working on it, Phil…" Fury sounded worried.

"I'm fine, I just need to get there, make sure Stark calls if he learns more before we get there." Phil's voice cracked, a million things playing through his mind and none good if Clint was willingly in a hospital.

"Understood, right now all we know is he's been admitted and a guy named George Thompson came in with him. Let me know what you need when you get there." Fury replied before the line was disconnected.

Natasha ran back up the steps, locking the house back up as Phil settled himself in the passenger seat of the car, the name of the hospital and doctor in charge were already showing up on his phone as the younger woman got in the car and started back down the drive, finally on their way to Barton.

_AAAAAAAAAAA_

George was allowed back to see the young man he just couldn't walk away from. He had never seen anyone hooked up to so many machines, hell the kid even had a tube down his throat breathing for him. The nurse had mentioned that was to help his injured lung heal, but he wasn't sure. The young man looked even more broken laying in that hospital bed than he had in the truck. "Who are you kid? And what happened to you?" Before he could stop himself George reached up and ran his hand through the sweat-soaked blond hair, the heat he felt radiating off the young man almost made his hand recoil. "I'm with you kid, you ain't alone." The older man stated before he moved back some, retrieving a nearby chair and took up a vigil for a man he didn't know, but felt needed someone to watch over him, to care.

_AAAAAAAAAAAAAA_

The airport near Jefferson, Ohio was slightly larger than the one in Iowa and allowed them an actually car rental place, they were surprised upon arrival when Phil signed in, using his Agent credentials because he knew he'd probably have to get around not only the local police, but hospital protocol, when the attendant handed them a set of keys, "Your office called requesting a rental be ready when you arrived." They were sure it was the handy work of Fury and/or Stark, taking the keys with a quick thanks, the two headed toward the lot, trying to prepare themselves for what they would find once they reached the hospital.

_AAAAAAAAAAAAAA_

George had spent the last several hours sitting next the a heavily sedated Clint, his condition hadn't changed much, his body still fighting an infection and the intracranial pressure still being monitored for the slightest fluctuation. When George had spoken with his son earlier he was concerned his father was sitting with someone he didn't even know. His son pointed out the guy could be a cold-blooded murder on the run, but George was usually a good read of peoples character and assured his son that he didn't think that was the case. The older man told his son he thought the kid he'd picked up was a soldier, maybe one having trouble readjusting and just needing someone to care, though the injuries were still a mystery. Plus he reminded his son he was at a hospital surrounded by people, so if the his read on the kid was wrong, it's not like the young man was in any shape to do anything to anyone.

Thinking of that conversation George took another drink of the coffee he had gotten from the waiting room and continued to watch over Clint. As the hours passed instead of looking any better the kid continued to look worse, his pale face was accented by his fevered cheeks, sweat still plastering his hair to his head, his body slightly shivering from the fight it was obviously waging. George really hoped this kid had enough fight left in him to survive this.

_AAAAAAAAAAAA_

Natasha and Phil arrived at the hospital within twenty minutes of leaving the airport, taking a minute to collect himself and slip his 'Agent' mask into place, Coulson took a deep breath, looked at Natasha as she attempted to do the same, with a slight nod exchanged between them they exited the vehicle and made their way inside.

Reaching the desk Phil pulled out his identification and a picture of Clint, "I understand you have a man matching this description as a patient, possibly under the name Clint Doe?"

The young woman at the desk barely looked old enough to be out of high school, let alone working the desk in a hospital. She looked a bit shocked by the official looking credentials and the air of authority the man before her was radiating, the red-haired woman slightly behind the man gave off an even more dangerous feel to the young girl.

"Yes sir…let me check, he was in surgery the last I knew," The girl started typing on the keyboard before her. "He's currently in the ICU, listed as grave…I can page the attending doctor."

"Point me in the direction for the ICU and have the doctor meet us there." Phil forced his emotions to stay in check, grave condition… what did that mean? He shut down the feelings and images that flooded his mind, he needed to talk with the doctor, to see Clint and until he knew what was going on he'd keep everything locked up tight.

"Down this hall, first hall on the right, down two more on the left. I'll have the doctor meet you there." The young woman motioned.

"Thank you." Phil replied as he and Natasha quickly made their way down the hall.

"Coulson…" Natasha's quiet voice carried the sound of the barely contained feelings he knew they both were fighting.

"We need to hear what the doctor has to say." He clipped, he had to stay focused.

Upon rounding the last corner Phil saw a man in a white coat waiting anxiously at the counter. The nurse had definitely given an accurate description of the two people approaching, authority and danger floated around them like a barely restrained bubble about to pop. The doctor stepped forward, his hand coming up, "I'm Dr. Johnson, you're here in regards to our patient listed as Clint Doe?"

"Agent Phil Coulson, this is Agent Natasha Romanoff…Your patients name is Agent Clint Barton, he is part of my team, can you tell he what happened?" Phil noticed the doctor's posture shift at the word 'Agent', though Phil didn't go into detail just which agency they were Agents for, that wasn't important at the moment.

The doctor cleared his throat, "Yes…Agent Barton was brought in by ambulance after collapsing in a gas station parking lot, he'd been picked up hitchhiking and the man he was riding with got him help. Agent Barton appeared to have several broken ribs, one puncturing his lung, there were numerous shards of glass imbedded in his back through the protective shirt he was wearing, many of those were infected. While in surgery the surgeon repaired his lung, resetting the ribs that had shifted, they found internal bruising and a lacerated liver. The patient has severe bruising and contusions covering his upper body and back as well as a severe concussion that we are monitoring because of increased intracranial pressure. Currently he is on a ventilator to help with his healing lung, but also as a precaution from the pressure on his brain. He's running a high fever as his body is trying to fight off the infection from the glass. His condition is listed as grave at the moment. We have done all we can, it's up to him now."

The doctor watched as the man before him paled slightly, the young woman behind taking a deep-breath before looking away. The people before him were obviously more than just a team, the reaction was as a family, these people cared a lot about the young man in his care. "Okay…" Phil rubbed his hand over his face, then pulled a card from his pocket, "I need everything you have on Agent Barton's condition sent to this email address and I need to you take the physician's recommendations as they are given, we will be looking to transport our agent to our facility as soon as he is stable enough to move."

"What? You can't move him," the doctor found his footing now, someone was wanting to move a patient he knew would not survive that move, "He's my patient at this moment and I really don't care what agency you are with, he is not even close to a condition that would allow for you to move him anywhere."

"We will not move him until he is stable, but I need preparations ready for when we do." Phil could feel exhaustion and the fear he'd been carrying starting to weigh heavily on him. He felt the gentle touch of Natasha's hand on his back, her way of reminding him she was there too and that they needed to see Clint. "Please, can I see my agent?"

Still reeling from the discussion of transporting the patient, the doctor saw the agent's façade slip slightly when he asked to see the young man, yes, he thought, there is more here than just a professional, working relationship between these three people. "Of course," they started toward the doorway, "The man that had given your agent a ride has been sitting with him since he came out of surgery, I've shared information with him because he demanded that your agent needed someone who cared around and he decided it would be him until someone else showed up. His names George Thompson." the doctor motioned toward the door and let the agent's before him go in on their own.

George had just finished his last cup of coffee when he heard the door open again, the nurses had been in and out regularly to check vitals, but it was a whispered "Clint" that had him turning toward the new voice. The older man quickly stood and actually took a step toward Clint's beds, an almost protective instinct. George watched as the slightly smaller man stepped into the room, a red-haired woman coming in behind him, her hand going to her mouth as she took in the view of the man in the bed, but it was the man that George watched as he moved slowly toward the bed without looking up, only looking at the still form before him. "Please tell me you're Phil?" George asked quietly, whoever 'Phil' was he was obviously important to the kid as that was the name that escaped him when he collapsed in the parking lot.

"What?" Confusion mixed with fear and worry filled Coulson's face as he looked at George.

"I had a feeling he was hurt when I picked him up, but he didn't say anything. When he collapsed and I caught him, he called out for a 'Phil' before he lost consciousness, are you Phil?" George saw a look that reminded him of expressions he was sure had crossed his face many times when his own son had been hurt or sick, it was a fatherly look.

Coulson nodded his head, "Yes, I'm Phil…" Phil slowly reached his hand up, laying it against Clint's sweat-covered forehead.

"You his dad?"

"Something like that." Coulson responded as he took in the seemingly broken form before him. Clint had been hurt, seriously hurt before, and yes at one time he had feared he was going to lose the young man before him, that was the only other time Phil had seen the young man before him look so broken, but this time it almost seemed worse, this time he had all the machines reminding him that the man he viewed as his son was fighting for his life, a life he wasn't sure the kid would keep fighting for if he didn't realize that Phil was alive and right there with him. Pushing everything aside; the fact he had a stranger in the room, the fact Natasha was now standing right beside him, one of her hands on Clint's leg and the other again laying against Coulson's back for support, Phil leaned down close to Barton's ear, "I'm here Clint, they were wrong, I'm here now so you fight this…do you hear me? You fight this…" The words choked at the end as the older man reached down and picked up Clint's hand, squeezing it as he did something he had never done, he kissed Clint's forehead.


End file.
